Miss Compton's Christmas Romance Page 3

  “Absolutely,” she murmured, answering Dalton’s question about children while searching for nothing in particular. There was a handkerchief, a small box of homemade mints, her ticket to Sheffield, and some money. Not one useful thing to keep herself busy with or to distract her from Mr. Dalton’s presence.

  He smelled good too, of leather and sandalwood and a hint of coffee.

  Not that it mattered.

  She rummaged some more.

  “What are you looking for?” His voice tickled the nape of her neck, sending warm little shivers straight down her spine.

  “I wish I’d brought a book,” she told him before closing her reticule again. Mr. Smith stirred beside her, and the girl diagonally opposite dropped her book. It slipped from her fingers as she fell asleep.

  Mr. Dalton caught it. “Here. Read this if you like.”

  She stared at him. “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “I doubt she’d mind,” the old woman said. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Even so, it’s not my book. It belongs to her,” Leonora said. “You ought to put it back.”

  “So it can fall to the floor the next time the carriage jolts?”

  “No, but—”

  “I’ll read it then,” he said. And so he did, starting with page one. “‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”

  Chapter Two

  PHILIP WAS STILL NOT entirely sure as to why exactly he’d told everyone that Miss Compton was his wife.

  Not true.

  He glanced at her while he turned the page of Pride and Prejudice and decided her gorgeous blue eyes must be to blame. Either those or her kissable lips. He’d noticed both almost as soon as he’d seen her, for they were the features of a goddess, not of a mortal woman.

  Or perhaps it had something to do with the gleaming copper locks he’d glimpsed beneath the brim of her bonnet. He tried to focus on the reading. “‘Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate.’” Mostly, he decided while the words continued to flow from his mouth, it was because of Mr. Smith’s sudden interest in her. As soon as he’d realized another might swoop in and snatch Miss Compton away, Philip had said the only thing that would force the other man to retreat.

  And she hadn’t called his bluff.

  Almost. But not quite. Which had to mean that in spite of refusing to accept his help with her valise and proving further disinterest in him by reluctantly giving her name, she must be warming to him. Mustn’t she?

  He certainly hoped so, for he had already decided that he rather liked her. Not just because she was stunning to look at or because he enjoyed the spark of irritation that flashed in her eyes each time he provoked her, but because she’d thanked him. Even though there had been no doubt in his mind that she’d rather hit him over the head with her valise, though the reason for this still puzzled him, she’d been polite.

  In Philip’s estimation, this said a lot about her character. The way people were treated mattered to her, which was something that mattered to him. Whether or not that would lead to an attachment was unclear. For now, he was simply enjoying the game, the woman presently nestled against his side, the chance she might be enjoying it too, and the absolute certainty that she, unlike his wife, would never hurt him with words.

  “Are we almost at the Falcon’s Talon?” Mr. Smith asked, interrupting Philip’s reading with an obnoxious yawn.

  “I do not know,” Miss Compton said. She leaned forward to look out the window. “It does appear as though dusk is setting in, so I’m sure we must be there soon.”

  “In another quarter of an hour, I suspect,” one of the old women said. “How many times have we stopped since London?’

  Philip knew the answer to that. “Six.” Unlike the rest of the group, he hadn’t slept, remaining awake each time the carriage had stopped for a new set of horses. The hostlers had been extremely efficient, taking an average of only three minutes to switch out the team.

  “Then I am right,” the older woman said. “We are almost there.”

  “Will you be spending the night or continuing on your way?” Mr. Smith inquired.

  Instinctively, Philip reached for Miss Compton’s hand, because the question had been inappropriately asked of her. To his relief and pleasure, she allowed the gesture without pulling away. It looked natural. To the rest of the group, there was no reason at all to suspect that they weren’t really married.

  “Yes,” she said. “I need a reprieve from the carriage and a proper night’s sleep before setting out again.”

  “That is what we always like to do too,” one of the old women said. “The alternative is far too exhausting.”

  Philip agreed, but staying overnight at an inn would give him and Miss Compton a bit of a problem. It was one he hadn’t really considered until now. But the option would soon be to tell these people the truth, which was out of the question since Mr. Smith’s interest in Miss Compton had not yet waned completely, or do what a newly married couple was expected to do, and share a room.

  For now, he decided to keep silent on the matter and simply focus on helping his ‘wife’ when they arrived at the Falcon’s Talon. He stepped down from the carriage before her and offered his hand so she could alight, assisted her with her luggage, and escorted her inside the inn. When Mr. Smith followed close on their heels, Philip knew there was only one option. He could not admit to the truth and leave Miss Compton without his protection.

  “Will you be requiring rooms for the night?” the innkeeper asked when he saw their small group arrive. He looked at each of them in turn before saying, “We’ve only two available.”

  “We can easily share,” one of the old women said. She addressed the young girl next. “And you are welcome to stay with us if you don’t mind our age.”

  “Not at all. You’re very kind to offer,” the girl replied.

  “I can have a bench brought up to the room for her with some cushions for comfort,” the innkeeper said, “but that still leaves three of you without beds.”

  “We’re married,” Philip said, quickly cutting off whatever Miss Compton was starting to say. He pulled her closer to his side and became aware of how stiff she now was. Most likely because he was taking charge, but surely she had to know he was only looking out for her best interests.

  “In that case, there should be a spot for you in the hayloft,” the innkeeper told Mr. Smith. “If you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Smith snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept there. I’m just glad for the chance to get some proper rest.”

  “Excellent.” The innkeeper grabbed a couple of keys. “Right this way.”

  Releasing Miss Compton, Philip picked up both of their bags.

  “For a moment there I thought you were having me on,” Mr. Smith remarked. “That you were only pretending to be married so I wouldn’t bother Miss Compton anymore.” He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Dalton. Very lucky indeed.”

  “That I am,” Philip agreed before urging Miss Compton to follow the innkeeper.

  She remained completely silent until they were in their room and the door was securely shut behind them. At which point she turned toward him with annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You go too far,” she told him crisply. “I cannot possibly remain here with you for the night.”

  “Would you rather take your chances with Mr. Smith or one of the other men staying here?” he asked her calmly.

  “I am an unmarried woman, Mr. Dalton. What we are doing is so far removed from what is proper, I lack the ability to describe it.”

  “If it is scandal you fear, you may rest assured that no one is going to discover the truth.”

  “But I will know, and...” She glanced at the bed and clenched her jaw with visible discomfort.

  Ah. So that was the crux of the matter. “You need not worry. I shall sleep in the chair over th
ere, and you may have the bed. Your virtue will not be threatened in any way. At least not by me.”

  She scowled at him and placed her fists on her hips. “I do not know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.”

  “Women.” He shook his head. “You want us to keep our distance, and yet you condemn us when we don’t show enough interest.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “You speak as though from experience.”

  He blew out a breath. “My wife—”

  “Your wife?” Her eyes were now wide with horror. “Are you telling me that you’re already married?”

  “Was.” He set his valise by the wall and placed hers at the foot of the bed. “She’s been dead these past ten years.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  He winced. “She wanted more from life than I was able to give her and...eventually that got her killed.” Scrubbing his hand across his face, he considered Miss Compton, whose expression had turned far too serious. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little.”

  He smiled. “Shall we go down to the dining room then?”

  She nodded, removed her cloak and her bonnet, and went to the door. Pausing there, she turned to him, hesitated briefly, and said, “My given name is Leonora. I thought you should probably know that if we are to pull this scheme off.”

  Leonora.

  It was a lovely name, one that suited her tremendously. It made him want to bow his head and kiss her, right on her rose-colored lips, but seeing her hair completely uncovered and being made aware of what she looked like beneath her voluminous cloak made movement impossible. He stood as if frozen, just staring at her copper tresses and admiring the way they shimmered in the light from a nearby oil lamp. And then she was out the door and heading for the staircase.

  Philip forced himself into motion, removing his greatcoat and hanging it on a peg before following her down the stairs. Catching up to her in the foyer, he offered his arm and felt warmth seep under his skin the moment she accepted.

  “What tempts you?” he asked as soon as they were seated.

  She coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

  Realizing her wayward thoughts, he grinned and pointed toward the chalkboard hanging over the bar counter. “For dinner?”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. She cleared her throat. “I believe I’ll have the chicken soup.”

  “And to drink?”

  “How much do you suppose they charge for their wine?”

  He smiled at her warmly. “You mustn’t worry about that as long as we’re married. Whatever you like is on me.”

  “I couldn’t possibly accept your—”

  “Please, Leonora. It would be my pleasure.”

  Her blush deepened and she averted her gaze. “But it would be wrong when I don’t even like you.”

  The words were so softly spoken he almost missed them. “Are you sure about that?” Because while he was certain it might have been true that morning, he believed her opinion of him had changed during the course of their journey.

  She turned her gaze toward him, her eyes conveying both doubt and hope. “I saw you speaking with Mr. Becker before we left London, and I just...I cannot believe that a friend of his, or even an acquaintance, would be the sort of person with whom I would wish to associate.”

  Philip frowned. “Forgive me, but are you referring to the stout man with the silver tipped cane with whom I exchanged a few words right before you arrived?” She nodded and Philip blew out a breath. “I never met him before, but apparently he recognized me and was eager to chat.”

  “Why...why would he recognize you if you did not know him?”

  A waitress arrived before Philip could answer and he quickly placed their orders. When they were once again alone, he said, “I own The Gentleman’s Emporium.”

  Leonora gaped at him as if he’d just sprouted carrots from his ears. “The fancy shop on Bond Street?”

  “There’s another on Piccadilly, and we’ll soon be opening a new branch on The Strand, but yes, that is the one.”

  She slumped back against her chair, her eyes slightly dazed. It almost looked as though she’d taken a hit to her head. “Then you must be...” Her words faded as if she was having some trouble thinking clearly. “Why on earth would you choose to travel by stagecoach when you must surely be able to afford your own carriage?”

  The edge of his mouth twitched. “I can afford a lot of things. That does not mean it is wise of me to invest in all of them.” He shrugged. “I see no point in spending money on a carriage and horses, on stables and grooms and coachmen, when I can just as easily travel the same way as everyone else.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you really?

  “Honestly?” She looked slightly lost, which lent an adorable appearance to her expression. “I’m not entirely sure.”

  He nodded. “You are honest, direct, and polite, Leonora, which are all admirable qualities.”

  The food arrived along with their drinks, and Philip raised his wine glass for a toast. “To our ongoing adventure.”

  She bit her lip. “I owe you an apology, Mr. Dalton.”

  “Philip,” he amended, not because it was strange for a wife to address her husband as she had just done but because he longed to hear her say it.

  “Very well, Philip.” The sweetness of her voice was almost poetic. “I must ask your forgiveness, for I fear I misjudged you entirely. It was badly done and—”

  “Completely forgotten as long as you answer my toast by drinking some wine.”

  She smiled and took a quick sip. “Oh. That is rather good.” She allowed herself to take another swallow while he watched, his stomach tightening at the sight of her lips pressing softly against the rim of the glass. Lord give him strength. “In all honesty, however, I allowed myself to draw some unfair conclusions about you, for which I am truly sorry.”

  Sensing she would not let this matter rest until he said what she needed to hear, he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. An immediate charge went through him, leaving sparks of desire in its wake. She wasn't wearing gloves and neither was he, and by god, he should have known better than to touch her like this.

  Forcing himself to meet her gaze, he immediately noticed her dilated pupils, like two north stars guiding him to her. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry even though he’d just had the wine. “You mustn’t worry about that anymore,” he somehow managed to say. “I accept your apology. Now eat your soup before it goes cold.”

  She did as he suggested, and he gave his attention to his own soup. They ate in silence, which was yet another thing he appreciated about her. She did not seem to require constant conversation and yet the lack of it wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the contrary.

  “Would you like some cake for dessert?” he asked when they were both done eating. “Perhaps some tea to go with it?”

  “I do not wish to impose.”

  “I know, but as I have already told you, I am happy to indulge you.” He deliberately smiled. “Besides, I have a penchant for sweet things myself.”

  Her eyes flashed with amusement. “In that case, I do believe I am the one who will be indulging you.”

  Somehow, her words encouraged the wickedest notions to manifest in his brain. A flare of heat followed as every muscle in his body grew tight. “If only,” he murmured, too low for her to hear. Perhaps this idea of his to pretend they were married had been unwise. He was a man, after all, about to spend the night with the loveliest woman he’d ever met – a woman he longed to kiss...touch...undress...

  He raised his hand to call a waitress while acknowledging the danger he’d placed her in when he’d only wanted to keep her safe. But could he resist her until they arrived in Sheffield?

  You bloody well have to or you’re no better than Mr. Smith.

  Perhaps he was worse. Perhaps he ought to make an excuse, pretend they’d quarreled, and remain in the dining room for the night. But when they finished their
cakes a while later and the time came for them to retire, he could not make himself walk away.

  Scoundrel.

  Perhaps, but not necessarily. Not as long as he slept in the chair.

  “I’VE BEEN THINKING,” Leonora started as soon as they were back in their room. “It wouldn’t be right to make you sleep in the chair.”

  “You’re not making me do anything,” Philip pointed out. “I am choosing to sleep there because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Yes. I know. But isn’t the point of an overnight stay to get some decent rest? Otherwise you might as well have continued on your way in the coach.”

  “Not unless you came with me.” He met her gaze directly, the heat of it burning straight through her. She swallowed, still slightly undone by how gorgeous he looked without his greatcoat. The jacket he wore was perfectly tailored, lying flat against his chest, while his trousers were tapered in a way that accentuated the length and strength of his legs. “What sort of man would I be if I went on without my wife? And you need to sleep in a proper bed, so you can be ready to travel again in the morning.”

  Leonora sighed. “I feel as though I’ve been a tremendous inconvenience for you already.”

  “Not at all. Either way, you would have gotten this room even if you had stayed in it by yourself. I would have been in the hayloft with Mr. Smith, and frankly, I’d rather make do with the chair.”

  “But...” Leonora bit her lip. So far he’d proven to be a gentleman, a fun and adventurous one too – one refusing to take advantage of her even though he had placed himself in the perfect position to do precisely that. “I see no reason why we cannot share the bed.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  She pointed toward the piece of furniture. “You can sleep on top of the blanket if you like, while I sleep underneath.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why? It is not as though we would be any closer to each other than we were in the coach.”